


Sunday Morning Brunch

by SilverSpell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alicia knew first, Baking, Brunch, Family, Fluff, M/M, Pancakes, Secret Relationship, flashback to smol Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSpell/pseuds/SilverSpell
Summary: "she quickly pulls the lowest drawer open to find it almost completely empty, save for a post-it note and a small stack of flash cards. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she’s just about to close the drawer and tease Jack about not knowing the layout of his own kitchen, when a small splash of colour catches her eye."Or, Alicia finds a stack of post-it notes and comes to the realization that Jack is finally happy.





	

Alicia leans against the doorframe to the guest bedroom, watching the back of Jack’s head as he reclines on the sofa next to Bob, both of them analyzing re-plays from last night’s game. It’s evening time, and the lamp behind them creates a soft bubble of light. They mumble back and fourth to each other, their voices soft and familiar as Alicia rests her head against the wall. There’s a pause. Bob glances over to his son and opens his mouth, before closing it and turning back towards the TV.

“You look good out there,” he says, his arm extended across the back of the couch, the TV controller dangling lightly in his hand.

Jack gives a small laugh. “Thanks Papa. I…” He pauses, turning his head to stare in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m happy.”

Maybe it’s the light, but Jack’s face seems softer in that moment, a lopsided grin tugging at his cheeks, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to give a full smile. It reminds Alicia of an eight year old Jack running through the snow ahead of Bob, nose red and dripping, skates banging against his shoulder as he trips towards the back porch. He’s laughing, a clump of snow sticking to the loose wool of his toque.

“Maman!” he calls, “Maman, after pancakes you have to go skating with us!”

Alicia leans heavily against the doorframe. It’s a face that makes her want to grab Jack and hold him tight, kiss the top of his ruffled hair. Instead, she watches as he continues to stare into the kitchen, his eyes flickering over the shadowed cabinets and countertops.

Bob puts the controller down, his hand reaching out to clasp his son’s shoulder. “I’m glad.”

 

 

The next morning, Alicia decides to make pancakes for breakfast. 

“Just like old times,” she says, ruffling the top of Jack’s head from his place at the dining room table, before heading to the doorway to go grab her shoes.

Jack looks up from the book he’s reading, frowning. “Why are you going out, then?”

Alicia balances on one foot as she tries to slip on her shoe, her purse banging against her hip. “To get ingredients, of course. Not that your collection of protein powder isn’t wonderful, dear. But I refuse to make pancakes with it.”

“Oh,” Jack says, and Alicia looks over to see a sheepish grin on his face, before he buries his head back in the book. “Don’t worry Maman. I have everything.”

Alicia stops, one shoe still dangling from her hand. “You’ve been baking?”

“Ah…” Jack shrugs his shoulders, studiously ignoring his mother’s gaze. “A bit.”

He gets up and opens some cabinets, showing her where the flour and sugar is stored, before his phone beeps, and he looks down at the screen, a small chuckle shaking his shoulders.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, his head down as he walks towards his bedroom, typing something out.

Alicia rummages around the cupboards, staring blankly at the meticulously organised containers that are labeled in a neat print she doesn’t recognize.

“Jack,” she calls, “do you have any cinnamon.”

Down the hallway she can hear Jack’s shuffling feet. “Um…check one of the drawers? Maybe by the fruit bowl?

Alicia opens the first one, but only finds cutlery. The one below is full of extra tape, bandages, an open bottle of scar balm. Not really expecting anything, she quickly pulls the lowest drawer open to find it almost completely empty, save for a post-it note and a small stack of flash cards. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she’s just about to close the drawer and tease Jack about not knowing the layout of his own kitchen, when a small splash of colour catches her eye.

It’s a heart, she realises, bending over to take a better look at the note below her. “Keep working hard!!” it reads in the same tidy scrawl as the carefully labeled baking ingredients. At the bottom, Alicia can see a little doodle of a rabbit, whiskers and nose matching the decretive bunny figurine sitting on the counter beside her. 

She touches the note softly, her fingers tracing the words. There are others underneath, she realises, all written in the same writing. All full of smiley faces, flowers, hearts. All full of encouragement. Some have tape on the back, the adhesive having lost its grip. All are signed with the same single “B”.

She closes the drawer slowly; carful not to disturb the easy love trying to hide just out of sight. From the hallway, Jack gives a muffled laugh, before coming back into view, his face still looking down at the phone screen.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was wrong. It’s in the cabinet next to the fridge, second shelf.”

He’s wearing the same smile as last night. Alicia steps towards him, grabs the hand not holding onto the phone. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

He looks bewildered at the change of tone, but eventfully his eyes wander towards the oven, smiling at something just out of Alicia’s reach. “Thanks.”

They’re quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, before the bathroom door bangs open and Bob walks in, hair still wet from his shower.

He looks over at the baking ingredients. “Pancakes! Parfait! It’s just like old times.”

“Almost,” Alicia says, scooping out a cup of flour and pouring it into the mixing bowl. Old times meant the three of them around an old wooden dining table, Jack inhaling his food so he could go back out to skate, Bob pouring inhumane amounts of maple syrup onto his plate. There was never this fourth presence hiding just under the surface, breathing a tenderness into the lines of Jack’s face. 

Bob goes over to the cutlery drawer, picking out forks and knives. “But what about dinner tonight, eh? I was thinking about making something. That chicken you like, maybe.”

Jack takes the cutlery from his father’s hands. “Nice…And don’t worry about dessert.” He gives a small chuckle, gripping his phone. “I have a pie in the freezer.”

Alicia pats Jack’s cheek, leaving a streak of flour on his cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it off. 

“That sounds wonderful,” she says, pouring the batter into a frying pan.

 

 

The following week, after getting settled back in Montreal, Alicia and Bob decide to Skype Jack. He picks up on the third ring, his face smiling and a little red.

“Ah, hello!” he says, tugging at the collar of his old Samwell shirt. He’s set up the laptop on the countertop beside the sink, giving his parents a view of the kitchen behind him. “How are you?”

There’s a pie cooling in the background, a pair of oven mitts scattered haphazardly across the countertop. In the distance, they hear a door banging closed, followed by the light footfalls of someone coming down the hallway.

“Oh Lord,” a voice rings out, “you will not believe what Lardo just told me. Swee-“

“Bits…Bittle.” Jack gives a small cough. “My parents are calling.”

“Oh!” There’s the sound of scuffling feet, before a blonde head pops up on the screen. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann!”

“Eric!” Bob booms out. “How’s the season coming along?”

Eric leans forward, talking animatedly about their last game, his hand brushing against Jack’s forearm. Jack stares down at the boy next to him and laughs, his head unconsciously dipping down so the two of them are on the same level, shoulders nudging each other. As he shifts, Alicia can just make out a row of post-it notes on the fridge.

“Eric,” she says, grinning. “The next time we’re in Providence, you should join us for brunch...I’ve been told you make delicious pancakes.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this after reading 3.6 and forget about it for the rest of the summer. But when I saw that there would be brunch involved next update I couldn't help myself and dug this fic up from the bottomless pit that is my laptop.
> 
> I have a major soft spot for Alicia Zimmermann, and I wanted to write a story about her finding out about Jack's relationship in a really understated way. Because Alicia Zimmermann looks like one of those really observant people who never let on how much they really know. Ever.
> 
> I'm the only one who's scanned this over for grammar, so sorry if you see any mistakes!
> 
> Also, also, also! Apparently this somehow got onto a tumblr fic rec, and I just want to say thank you for the lovely outpouring of support! I'm not a very active person on social media, but if you want to follow my mess of a Tumblr and look at some outdated memes (or talk! I'm also really down to talk abut check please or writing or anything else!) my username is oceaneyes579.


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